


Jolene

by writing_shorts_but_failing



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bard as Dolly, Bilbo as an innocent bystander, But my friend had the idea and I had to run with it, I am so sorry Bard, Inspired by Jolene (Dolly Parton), M/M, Misunderstandings, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, This is all his fault, This ran away from me, This wasn't supposed to be more than 2k, Thorin as Jolene, Thranduil as Dolly's Man, Why do things always get out of hand??, mentions of cheating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27803287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_shorts_but_failing/pseuds/writing_shorts_but_failing
Summary: Thranduil talks in his sleep, something so inconsequential has led to Bard having a downward spiral
Relationships: Bard the Bowman/Thranduil, Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49





	Jolene

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Constantine_You_Owe_Me](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Constantine_You_Owe_Me/gifts).



> A Christmas gift for my friend! He had this idea all the way back in October.
> 
> This is also over DOUBLE what I meant to write. ;w;
> 
> Enjoy, Leo! (PLEASE)

Sometimes Thanduil talked in his sleep, there was hardly ever any rhyme or reason to it that Bard could see. He could go months with barely a mumble or go a few weeks with complete one-sided conversations.

It was absolutely _adorable_ in Bard’s opinion.

Something _not_ adorable was being moved to the _extremely **early** morning_ shift. He would barely get to eat an early dinner with Thranduil before he had to go to sleep for work.

A week of being on this new (horrible) routine and his body still has not adjusted to waking up at two in the morning instead of seven. The five hour difference is killing him, and he feels that the only time he spends with his husband is staring at him creepily while Bard gets ready for work.

Thranduil is very cute while sleeping though, his normally flawless appearance is sleep rumpled, his hair a mess and creases on his face from the pillowcase. Sometimes he even drools and Bard is just so in love with his husband it hurts.

He is so lucky that Thranduil is a heavy sleeper, otherwise all of the noise and light would wake him up.

He misses seeing Thranduil wake up, completely missing his usual air of elegance, and nuzzling into Bard’s side. The way they get ready together. The way Thranduil will catch his tie and pull him in for a kiss on the cheek before straightening it back better than Bard can ever do it. The small forehead touch they do as before getting into their cars to go to work.

Hopefully this shift switch is temporary or, at least, Bard will get used to it quickly so he can spend more time with his husband.

A month goes by and he is mostly adjusted to the new sleep routine and is, once again, staring at Thranduil while he sleeps. He looks so cute in his sleep, he even has flushed face and keeps moving restlessly.

It is not his usual nightmare movements, maybe he is having a wet dream? It had been close to two months since they have done more than kiss, the frustration of it could be coming through unconsciously.

He snickers at the small joke and considers calling in sick for the day, it is not like he is the only supervisor working at this time of day.

Thranduil twists the sheets in his hands and in a breathless voice murmurs “Thorin!”

Bard feels his insides tangle in a cold knot.

Thorin? Thorin Durin, with his ridiculous middle name and the person who made a contract with Thranduil’s company last month, _that_ Thorin Durin?

Bard supposes he could see Thranduil being attracted to Thorin, the sharp features, the distinguished hair, the blue eyes, he has a nicer voice than Bard does too. He really should not be thinking about this, he has work and it is probably just one of those subconscious things that people go through sometimes.

Bard once had a wet dream about his college professor, which had honestly been somewhat traumatizing as the man was not even _close_ to Bard’s type.

So it is probably just Thranduil’s mind working out his sexual frustration in a safe way. Or something unconscious being worked out.

He tells himself this whenever the memory pops up throughout the day, which is _too damn often_ , and he believes it when he sees Thranduil’s smiling face at home. He forgets about it when they cuddle on the sofa after dinner and Bard falls asleep cradled in his husband’s arms.

* * *

Bard is, again, staring at Thranduil in the low light of their bedroom while Thranduil sleeps. Bard is well aware that it is a creepy habit, he is so thankful that Thranduil has never woken up while he has been doing it.

It is his day off but he has gotten so used to waking up so early that he cannot go back to sleep, so he has the bedside lamp on and an abandoned book in his lap.

Thranduil is turned toward him, face buried about halfway in his pillow and his arms and legs keep twitching. Bard has such a cute husband.

“Thorin,” Bard feels like he has been drenched in ice water. “Come here.”

He is going to slow cook a roast for dinner, he should go put it on right now.

He is _not_ running from his problems, it would be rude to wake up Thranduil when he has work in the morning.

* * *

He cannot work up the nerve to talk about it with Thranduil. That small kernel of doubt that someone as drop-dead **_gorgeous_** as Thranduil picking Bard, plain old straight-laced Bard, still lingers even after eight years of being together.

Communication is an essential part of being in a relationship, along with trust, but this felt . . . _shallow_ and unimportant. It was just his old insecurities rearing their ugly heads.

Besides, it had only been two times. Just a coincidence is all.

* * *

It has been at least seven times, far past being a pattern. It would be one thing if Thranduil was talking about a celebrity, like Lee Pace or Hugh Jackman, but Thorin was _within reach_. It . . . Bard did not think he would be able to handle if Thranduil cheated on him, those times when he was a teenager and had first started dating were bad enough, but with the man he loved?

It would probably end him.

At least his children were all grown up and not here to see his marriage fall apart. Sigrid and Bane with families of their own now, little Tilda so close to graduating college, and Legolas (whom Bard thought of as his own) was off with his boyfriend on a world tour.

Bard is probably over-reacting, Thranduil has not actually done more than talk about Thorin in his sleep.

It was just wistful dreams.

* * *

Bard was moved back to his regular shift after three months, too late for his nerves to not be shot. Not all to hell but shot nonetheless.

Thranduil was ecstatic about it, in his aloof way, which settled some of Bard’s worries. Bard still woke up at too-damn-early o’clock, he sincerely thought about quitting his shitty job but the benefits were too good, and heard Thranduil mumbling in his sleep often.

(Nothing like before, nothing like a _certain name_ , but it wasn’t as sweet as before. There was a lingering fear that curdled the experience.)

It was mostly nonsensical things, elves and starlight mostly, and it was so endearing that it made Bard’s heart swell with love and other mushy feelings.

Bard enjoyed the days with his husband, the comfortable silences, the long talks, the dramatic way that Thranduil would react to every bit of drama in a show they were watching, the whispers and moans and mingling breath.

Everything was going swimmingly, until a company function comes up.

Nothing out of the ordinary for either of them, Thranduil’s company had events fairly often and Bard tried to come to them as often as he could. Bard being there usually led to higher moral somehow, he could not understand how they correlated but he would go with this theory.

This time, however, one of the companies that Thranduil had made a contract with would also be in attendance. With a company so old, Green Wood Corporation being almost two hundred years old, there is quite a few that it could be.

A small part of Bard is sure that this is going to be a bad get together for him.

* * *

Bard feels like he has a cold hand latched onto the back of his neck, forcing him to stay and see the inevitable meeting of Thranduil and Thorin.

The invited company is, the newly rebranded, Oaken Shield & Co. This, of course, includes the CEO, Thorin Durin, and his entourage of high ranking staff.

(He feels like the universe laughs at him.)

Bard refuses any alcohol, he fears he might not stop if he has so much as a sip, and talks to Tauriel off to the side. The office gossip barely makes it to his ears before he forgets in, as focused as he is on Thorin coming closer to Thranduil.

Bard is too far away to hear anything said but he sees how Thranduil leans down to Thorin, the way they lock eyes. Thranduil even does his little hand twirl, the one that he only does for Bard. Then comes Thranduil playing with his hair, twining the blond tresses around his nimble fingers.

“Bard, are you alright?” He jumps and Tauriel catches his shoulder when he almost trips over his own feet.

“I think I feel a little sick.” Not a lie, seeing Thranduil be flirty with someone else made his stomach twist. “I should head home early.”

“I’ll drive you.” Bard cannot say no to the small comfort of that, so they leave and he shoots a quick text to Thranduil that he is going home early.

The reply came almost two hours later while Bard stared at the muted TV in his pajamas.

_I’ll see you at home honey xoxo_

Bard threw his phone onto the cushions and went to bed. He stared at the ceiling for awhile before getting up to take some Tylenol for the sudden headache and going back to staring at the ceiling until he rolled over and stared at the alarm clock.

The last thing he saw before falling asleep was 11:27.

* * *

He could admit that at this point he was – is – being a coward.

Relationships are about _communication_ , or at least a large part, and he could not bring himself to confront his husband on possible _infidelity_. It was only the right thing to do, confirmation was the only way to find a solution to this problem. Whether the solution was talking it over or . . . _divorce_ , it remained to be seen since he could not _stop being a coward_.

For three weeks it ate and ate and _ate_ at him. The breaking point was Thranduil coming home late from the office with only a small text.

_Some idiot mixed up some paperwork. Be home late <3 _

He stayed at home until almost eleven before taking his car to a bar. It was more like a tavern than the usual rowdy bars, Green Oak Hill was warm and cozy like the one back in his home town.

As nice as it was, which was very, the melancholy it brought on did nothing for his mood.

He ordered a pint and sat at the corner of the counter, soft music drifting in the background and low lighting. The pint, a house brew, is delivered fast and he only took a sip before staring at it.

It felt like his marriage was slipping right through his fingers and he could do nothing to stop it, like every moment of love and acceptance held less meaning.

Was it something he had done? Something he neglected to do? Something to turn Thranduil to Thorin?

Thorin with his raven locks and deep blue eyes, his deep voice and muscles. Thorin, who had his own business and was pretty handsome.

Bard must have done something. **_Anything_**!

Thranduil was – is – far too loyal to be _disloyal_ without a cause.

“You’ve been staring at your beer for an hour, are you okay?” Bard completely broke down at the kind question, sobbing and he put his face to the bar counter. Almost a six months of these worries was too much. “Oh my gosh, do you need help?!”

Bard was crying too much to answer, he folded his arms around his middle and shook his head. He was not crying loudly but very intensely and the tears spilled from his eyes like a waterfall.

As he tired himself out he noticed a hand rubbing his back, big and warm. A handkerchief was handed to him and he scrubbed the tears off his face before blowing his nose on a napkin nearby, taking a glass of water and sipping it.

He felt like he had rocks rolling around his brain and that a hammer was hitting his head with every heartbeat. He feels like a complete mess in pretty much every way. He turns to thank the person and –

“Thorin?” _Holy fucking shit. What are the odds of this?_

“Yes?” Thorin raised an eyebrow, clearly concerned for _Bard._ “Are you alright?”

“Not really.” Just saying that makes him want to cry again. “I think my husband is cheating on me.”

“Sounds like an idiot,” Thorin says with no hesitation. “Have you talked with him about it?”

“No,” Bard could hear how clogged his nose was from the crying, adding to the headache. Not that the aches stopped more tears from sliding out of his eyes. “I’m afraid that if I do, if I actually talk to him, that I’ll be right.”

“How long have you suspected?” Maybe Bard should have had more than a sip of beer.

“It’s been almost six months since he first said your name in his sleep.” The gobsmacked expression on Thorin’s face made Bard feel slightly better.

“I’m already married!” Thorin almost shouted in confusion. “I’m married to Bilbo!”

There is some sharp gesturing to the bartender from earlier.

“Looks like I don’t have to worry about you then, just my husband.” Thranduil did business with Thorin, surely he knew that Thorin is _married_.

“Who is your husband?” Bard looked up at the groan to see Thorin had his face buried in his hands.

“Thranduil Opherion,” Thorin jerked his head up, staring at Bard with wide eyes.

“Opherion?! You’re married to _him_?!” A rather dramatic, but understandable, reaction if you asked Bard. Thranduil is way out of his league. “We hate each other!”

Bard’s first thought was of denial, at least on Thranduil’s part, but then some things started to slip into place. The business event in particular comes to mind, Thranduil’s movements too stiff to be the smooth and airy flirtations, and the hair twirling was with far too much force. Almost like he had been ready to pull out the golden locks.

Bard felt like crying again, only from relief, but his eyes only watered.

“That does explain a few more things.” Bard sniffled, wiping his nose with the napkin. He should get home, Thranduil will no doubt be worried by this point. “Sorry for the trouble.”

“Nonsense,” He turned to see the bartender, Bilbo, wiping down the counter. “Do you feel up to driving or do you want someone to drive you home, a cab, or even a place to stay for the night? My goodness, you look a bit peaky, do you want something to eat?”

“Bilbo, love –”

“Hush, Thorin.” Thorin snapped his mouth shut and Bard felt like his emotions were all over the place.

“Food would be nice, and perhaps more water.” The thought of food made his mouth water, the stress of this situation had been terrible for his appetite and he had been losing weight. It felt good to be _hungry_ after so long.

“I’ll have Bombur fix just the thing for you.” Another glass of water appeared from who knew where and Bilbo took the empty glass with him. Bilbo stopped before going out of sight to give Thorin a sharp look. “I’ll be back in the shake of a lamb’s tail.”

Awkward silence fell and Bard knew that he would have to talk about this to Thranduil, his stomach clenched at the thought, but he had needed to talk to Thranduil anyway. Only now he was sure that he needed therapy, again, for his self-esteem, maybe go back on medication.

It had felt like such an accomplishment to be able to let go of his metaphorical crutch, believing himself to be fully healed. This appeared to be more chronic pain than broken bone.

Oh well, nothing to do but get help for it.

“I could still beat him up if you want.”

“Thorin!” Bilbo gasped at Thorin’s gruff offer, nearly tilting the tray of food over when he swatted the back of Thorin’s head. Bard wanted to know how the short man kept appearing out of nowhere. “Here you go, some nice beef stew. Don’t listen to my husband, he’s worse than a Took for anything except business. Although, even that is a bit dubious.”

“Bilbo!” Bard enjoyed the scandalized look on Thorin’s face, an obviously over-dramatic expression, and the over the top gesturing.

It made Bard’s heart ache, it was just like when he and Thranduil were being playful.

“Hush, Thorin,” Bilbo patted Thorin on the head after setting down the tray, reaching behind the bar to pull out a bottle of tequila and three shot glasses. “My cousins drank all the Everclear and we have yet to get in another order, this will have to do.”

“For what?!” Bard almost choked on a spoonful of (extraordinarily delicious) beef stew.

“To soften your nerves of course.” All three shot glasses were filled swiftly and expertly. “Although I think Guinness would go better with the stew, so maybe only a few shots.”

“A few?” Bard felt faint, the bottle said 80 proof and his tolerance had gone _down_ since university. “I can’t drink that much.”

“You’ll be fine,” Bilbo tossed back one of the shots, not even making a face at the strength, “I’ll have Dwalin drive you home, and _he won’t argue if he knows what's good for him!_ ”

“Aye, I’ll drive him home,” Dwalin, presumably, said from the other end of the bar.

 _Fuck it,_ Bard thought before taking a shot and coughing, _It’s too late at night for the talk with Thranduil anyway._

After three more shots he was silently crying into his amazing beef stew, partly from how tasty it was and partly because he missed Thranduil and these people were so nice to him.

Two more and he is humming along to some song while mopping up the last of the stew with a piece of bread.

One more shot (or is it three?) and he wakes up in bed feeling like trash. His mouth is dry, his back hurts worse than normal, his head throbs with his heartbeat, and the room is spinning before he even opens his eyes.

A few upsides are that the blackout curtains are closed and that his stomach is not rebelling against him.

He slaps around for the nightstand, almost knocking off his shitty radio alarm-clock, and is so grateful that there is a glass of water. He sips most of it, spills some, and is feeling better while the room spins a lot slower.

He takes a few moments to languish in the bed before almost falling out of it to get up. The room moving around is not helping his dizziness or getting him closer to the kitchen and _coffee_.

On the way there he slammed his hip into the eating table’s _sharp as fuck_ corner and fell to the floor with a whine. Hardwood flooring hurt.

He stayed sprawled on the ground, looking up at the table, in pain from various things.

“ . . . Dining room table.” Not eating table, he was such an idiot. Who said eating table?

“Yes,” Bard turned his head to see his beautiful husband staring at him. “That is indeed the dining room table. Now, why are you on the floor?”

“Uh . . . Th-the table hit me and I fell down?” Thranduil did the One Eyebrow Of Disappointment, but sighed and helped him up anyway. “You’re the best husband in the world.”

“I know, drink your juice.” There was orange juice on the table, that he either had not noticed earlier or that Thranduil had just put in front of him. The juice, while cold and refreshing against his parched throat, tasted terrible from the dry mouth.

He loves his husband but he can be so damn petty sometimes. He completely deserves it this time though. Getting drunk with no notice was probably worrying to Thranduil, plus however he had gotten home.

Thranduil sat across from him with a plate of unbuttered toast, again with the pettiness since Bard would have to drink the juice to get the dry toast down.

“Is there a reason Dwalin Fundinson drove you home and handed me a note last night,” Thranduil had the grace to wait for Bard to be on his second piece of dry toast before he started questioning him. “Because you were too drunk to drive yourself home?”

“I’m going to preface all of this with the fact that I’ve decided to go to therapy – no, no!” Bard hurried to reassure Thranduil when he looked alarmed. “It’s nothing really bad, I swear! Just – it was just me being stupid!”

“Okay, please explain.” Bard takes a drink at the way Thranduil is clenching his jaw. He appreciates that his husband is trying to not metaphorically jump down his throat.

“Right, well,” How is he supposed to explain six months of being absolutely stupid and cowardly? There needs to be a guidebook for this sort of thing. “You know how I sometimes have moments of low self-esteem?”

_Oh, god, that is a shit way to start._

“I’ve, um, I’ve told you how I can hardly believe that you would pick me out of anybody,” Bard cannot bring himself to look into Thranduil’s eyes, “Years ago, before I had even gone to university, I was in therapy. I, well, I suppose I never got over, um, obviously I haven’t - this is hard to put into words.”

“Take your time, love.” Thranduil’s voice has softened considerably.

“Right. Right.” Bard heaves a sigh, trying to organize what he needs to say. After a moment, still unready but he plows on, “I have always had these self-esteem issues, it got worse as a teenager when almost all of my partners cheated on me. It made me stop dating at all until I met Matilda, and I was constantly scared that she was cheating on me, it took her almost three years to convince me that she had never and would never do that. I thought that those fears were far behind me, so far that I was taken off of my medication. I-I’ve been constantly thinking that something’s wrong with me and I don’t-“

He buries his face in his hands, taking shaky breaths, trying to calm himself enough to continue talking.

_I am shit at talking, let alone while hungover._

“You know how you talk in your sleep? Well, when I had the early morning shift at work, I heard you whisper another man’s name. I decided that it was just one of those weird dream things that everyone has, only I kept hearing you say his name and I thought that I had done something wrong to make you want someone else.” Bard held back tears, making his headache flare up from low to almost pounding. “That’s such a selfish and bullshit thing to think, right? And then I was too scared to bring it up in case I was right, which is even more bullshit because half of relationships is communication but I –“

“Bard, love,” Thranduil gently took Bard’s hands from his hair, that he had not noticed had migrated there, and softly squeezed them to ground him. “Deep breaths with me, okay? In, one, two, three, four, five. Out, one, two, three, four, five.”

Bard follows the exercise until a few minutes after his breathing is normal, holding onto Thranduil’s hands like the lifeline they are.

“I’m so sorry for not saying anything, Thranduil. I’m sorry.” _Why have I been given a mouth to shove my foot into?_

“It’s understandable, Bard,” He sniffles at how much he loves his amazing husband, he is so lucky that Thranduil is not doing something drastic about this whole situation. He would certainly deserve it. Plus Thranduil was just dramatic in general. “I think I would have had the same reaction.”

“I love you, you’re the best thing ever.” He puts his head on the table, still holding Thranduil’s hands, and sniffs back tears. “My therapist is going to get so tired of hearing how I have the best husband.”

“Bard, I’m being a decent human being. That is not how high the bar should be.”

“True.”

“This explains some things, but why the bar and being driven home by Fundinson?”

“Last night I waited until almost eleven for you to come home, I left since I didn’t want to see the state you would come back in,” Bard lifts his head, squinting at the light. “I drove until I found this little tavern. I was only going to have one beer before coming back but some things happened.”

“That’s what I thought, you’re not into excessive drinking. What happened?”

“Well, I met Thorin Durin,” Thranduil scrunched up his face like he had smelled something bad, putting any lingering fears to rest. “Which happened to be the name that you kept saying, and then his husband heard that I was having a hard time and gave me this amazing beef stew. And then he said his cousins had drank all of the Everclear and that tequila would have to do for calming my nerves."

“You drank tequila.” Not a question but also not an accusation.

“Supposedly to calm my nerves so I could talk to you but at that point you would definitely be asleep for the night but I hadn’t _meant_ to drink so much.” Do these sound like excuses instead of explanations? Probably. “I can barely remember finishing the stew, honestly.”

“So you don’t remember why exactly you got driven home by Fundinson? Or why _Thorin Durin_ was near the house?” The way Thranduil sneered that name could have peeled paint.

“I remember that Bilbo said that Dwalin would take me home with no arguments since I would be drinking, Thorin probably drove behind us so Dwalin wouldn’t have to walk back?” That seemed to make the most sense.

They were both quiet for awhile.

“Thorin said you both hated each other?”

“Yes,” Thranduil said it so matter-of-factly that it sounded like one of the universes unwritten rules. “I often dream of strangling him and watching the light fade from his eyes.”

Bard made a noise of understanding. “That explains the tangled sheets and flushed face then.”

“If I looked like that,” Even grimacing cannot make Thranduil look bad. “I suppose it makes sense to draw such a conclusion.”

“My therapist will hate the sound of your name _so much_ , love.”

“Hush and finish your breakfast.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is not proofread, my brain wouldn't work for that, so please let me know if you see an error somewhere!
> 
> Merry Chrysler, Leo!


End file.
